


King of Hearts

by AntiMaterielGirl



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: BDSM, Cigarettes, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiMaterielGirl/pseuds/AntiMaterielGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A female Courier gets back from the Big MT and has trouble healing. A little R&R at Vault 21 seems attractive, but will her beau forgive her after their explosive argument weeks before?</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrankHorrigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankHorrigan/gifts).



I scowl into the cracked bathroom mirror of the abandoned hotel room that I now occupy in Novac. I pull my bottom eyelids down. My eyeballs are bloodshot as hell, big dark bags underneath ‘em.   _Man, I look like shit._

“You look like shit,” Boone drawls around his cigarette. “What the fuck did they do to you out there?”

_Oh nothing…just removed MY BRAIN…_ “Beat me to shit. Cut me up.”

“Tough break.” He’s sitting on the bed, rifle across his knees.

“Yeah.” _I need some serious R &R. Looking like this, though; even a two-cap whore in Freeside would turn me away._

“Maybe you should get some sleep. Head out to Vegas. Get laid.”

I study him. Long ago I’d discarded the possibility of using him to relieve my _stress_. He was mighty fine lookin’, a great shot, but wouldn’t shut up about his dead wife. Carla this, Carla that. Kinda put a damper on the old libido, if you know what I’m sayin’. “Maybe you’re right.” I pull my hair back, look at the ugly scar Benny left me with. “Wonder what Frank’s doing these days,” I murmur.

“Probably still pissed off at you. You did shoot him.”

“Hey! He shot me first!” I glower at Boone from the mirror, but he’s staring off into space behind his shades, a shit-eating smirk on his face. “Besides, he’s wrong. Everyone in New Vegas knows that Sunset Sarsaparilla is better than Nuka.”

He cackles, slapping his knee.

“Least I don’t glow after I drink it,” I snarl under my breath. Boone laughs harder.

* * *

 

I lay awake and stare at the ceiling. I’d sent Boone away to his old room so I could get some sleep without his blasted snoring and sleep-talking. _I swear, if Carla wasn’t dead, I’d have hunted her down like a dog and killed her my damn self._

Frank and I met on the trail. I was out doing some bullshit job for the NCR, he was out fleecing the soldiers for the lint in their pockets in the middle of fuckin nowhere. A half-dozen games of blackjack and a bottle of whiskey later, we wound up sucking each other’s faces – then enthusiastically knocking boots – while Boone made himself scarce.

Needless to say, it was…memorable.

Enough for both of us to keep a radio handy. I’d always keep an ear out for his familiar, “Gone Postal, it’s Wheeler Dealer. Come in, Postal.”

We’d chat for a bit – or, more often, set up a rendezvous. I remember thinking that Boone’s eyes were gonna roll clear out of his head. It’s not my fault that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and just because he’s miserable, it doesn’t mean I have to be.

Maybe _he_ needs to get fuckin’ laid.

I close my eyes, thinking about when we were together last. Well…before we shot each other. We went out to dinner at the Gourmand, and that beast yanked me into an alcove and fucked me against the wall, right next to a potted plant. Anybody who turned the corner could’ve seen us – his bare ass, pants around his ankles, my legs locked around his waist, both of us screwing like mad.

And it was always like that.

Until that goddamned argument.

* * *

 

We both had way too many beers in the casino.

We headed up to my new room at the Tops – after all, Benny wasn’t using it anymore, and it had everything I needed, and then some. There were quite a few of the Chairmen who were more than happy to see him go, so they didn’t say shit when I moved into his room and got cozy.

I can’t remember much. We fucked like horny teenagers, and then the pillow talk got nasty over post-coital “refreshments.”  The guns came out, but neither of us was sober enough to hit what we aimed at, thank God.

Boone busted in, found both of us naked as jaybirds and bleeding everywhere. It was a miracle that Frank wasn’t shot dead right there. Boone treated my wound, tossed him a stimpak, let him dress, and had security escort him out.

We hadn’t spoke after that fight.

Over Sunset and Nuka.

Seems rather silly.

* * *

 

I woke up in the early morning. Boone was already sitting outside my door, a handful of cigarette butts scattered around his feet.

I stretch and join him at the railing. “You’re up early.”

“Yup.” He often didn’t sleep well. Bad dreams.

Last night, I had dreams of my own, but likely more pleasant than Boone’s. Frank’s impossibly handsome face. Carefully manicured facial hair, teeth shining white. His warm, muscular body – healthy and solid, the benefit of superior nutrition growing up in the vault. His sun-bronzed flesh against my unbelievably light paleness. The contrast of us makes me shiver. I’m sure it delights him, too.

And his eyes, oh God…so deep and dark; they bored right into me. Ripped my soul as bare as my body.

I couldn’t help but rub one out this morning. I could practically feel his strong hands on me, his teeth on me. His breath on my neck, his voice making love to my ears. It could be so silky, so seductive – the dirty things that passed through his lips would swirl around my head for days, and provide me with endless masturbation material.

I lean over the railing, bend over, stretch again, rest my forearms on it. I shake my head, try to get the cobwebs out; try to get Frank out. _GOD DAMN IT ALL!_ “Got your shit together?” Boone grunts in assent. He may drive me nuts sometimes, but there’s clear advantages to having a military man as a travel buddy, aside from being able to put bullets in what he aims at.

“Pack up, we’re headed to Vegas.”

He tosses the remainder of his cigarette over the railing with a smirk. “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

 

We hang around outside the entrance to Vault 21 for a brief pow-wow. “Think you can keep yourself occupied while I try and rustle up a roll in the hay?”

I can feel his eyes roll behind his dark glasses. “I’ve managed before.”

Sarah’s annoyingly sweet voice assaults me as soon as I enter the gift shop. “Oh, lookin’ for Frank? Just missed him! Headed down to his room.” Her cheery smile is horrendously out of place in the bare, institutional vault, like a birthday party in a graveyard.

“Thanks.”

“And hello there, handsome! It’s been a long time!” Sarah’d been hitting on Boone ever since I first dragged him here. He hadn’t shown any interest in her, but she’d so far been unable to get the hint. I glance at his face, see a look of resignation.

“Catch ya later, buddy. I’ve got business to attend to.” I chuckle as his glare follows me down the stairs. _This is one thing I can’t rescue you from, man. You’re on your own._

* * *

 

I pause outside Frank’s door.

_So, what do I say?_

Unfortunately, I don’t get the opportunity to debate with myself. The door clanks open, and he freezes mid-stride when he sees me. His chin raises a little. The polite nod of friends who had a falling out. “Howdy.”

“Yo.” There’s an awkward pause. “So, uh…how’s the leg?” _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

“Doin’ a lot better since the last time I saw you.” He squints. “Gets a bit achy on cold nights.”

I laugh nervously. “Sorry about that.”

He leans against the doorframe. “So, how’s the shoulder?”

“Oh, ah…” I shrug. “Healed up pretty good.”

“So what the fuck do you think you’re doing, knockin’ on my door?” He squints at me, arms crossed defiantly on his chest.

_I can’t lie to him. Never could._ “A little R &R. I’ve been through Hell and back.”

One of his dark eyebrows raise, an arrogant smirk on his face. “Ah…I see. So when things get tough, you come runnin’ back to Daddy, huh?”

I glare at him. _I don’t need this._ “Fuckin’ tunnel rat. Should’ve known better.” I turn on my heel, intent on collecting Boone and getting the fuck out of here. Where to? Who the fuck knows. Just far away from –

I’m stopped dead by an intense burning in my scalp that makes me gasp in pain and surprise. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he whispers into my ear, tightening his grip on my thick, dark blonde hair. “Do you know that?” I nod slightly, my eyes watering. I look around, but there’s no one in the corridor. _He’s not that stupid, to make a public display like that._

He drags me into his room by my hair and shoves me onto the bed. I rub my aching scalp as he punches the ‘do not disturb’ code on the door panel and draws down the zipper on his vault suit. It takes him about ten seconds to peel off every stitch of clothing. His skin is lighter than I remember, probably from a lot of time underground. “Stand up and strip.”

“Yes Sir.” Out of instinct or habit, I follow his instruction, tossing my clothing on a nearby armchair.

“On your knees.”

I comply, kneeling directly in front of him. My eyes are level with an ugly entrance wound scar – the one I put there with lovely Maria. I stare at it.

“You hurt my feelings, Kitten. You shouldn’t call Daddy names like that.” I don’t know what’s coming, but I –

“Kiss it.” I hesitate a second too long, and he grabs a handful of my hair and shoves my face into his leg. I make a show of kissing the scar – sans tongue – and he hauls me up by my hair, shoving me back onto the bed.

“Call me a tunnel rat…you’re no better than a stray dog.” As I start to lift myself off the bed in protest, he pounces on top of me, his strong hand on my throat. “A piece of malnourished, sun-baked deathclaw bait.” It’s impossible not to notice that he’s hard as a rock right now, since his crotch is pressed painfully against my stomach.

The impact of the slap takes me by surprise. It rattles my teeth in my head, and I cry out. “That’s for calling me names.” His left hand caresses my other cheek. I nuzzle into it, awaiting the inevitable. The next one is more of thud, resonating in my skull. “That’s for keeping me waiting.” I lay with close-eyed anticipation for another slap, but it doesn’t come. “Being away from me for so long…that was punishment enough for shooting me.”

He caresses the scar on my shoulder where he shot me. He leans down and kisses it. I close my eyes and savor the feeling of his soft lips on my skin. I shiver. “You missed me, didn’t you?” he asks. I bite my lip and moan, a brief, low sound, and he exhales forcefully. I feel him shift, his breath in my ear. “You’re _mine_.” My insides clench, my clit tingles.

Jesus, how I missed this. How I missed _him._

He shifts back, roughly kneeing my legs open. I watch him as he looks down, gazing at the spot between my legs. He leans down, smells me. “Mmmm…just as good as I remember.” He slides inside of me effortlessly as I wrap my legs and arms around him. He thrusts slowly, as if he wants to savor every moment. I thrust my hips up to meet him, lost in sensation, my body moving on instinct alone. I’m a quivering pile of gasps and moans and gyrating hips.

He gradually slows, stops, looks into my eyes from just a few inches away, our noses touching. He kisses me passionately, his arms boxing in my head. I couldn’t escape his embrace, even if I wanted to.

“I love you, Kitten.” I moan loudly in response. His eyes close, and he lays his head next to mine, cheek to cheek, thrusting languorously. His weight atop me, being overpowered, enveloped by his strong, muscular body…it’s intoxicating. I inhale his scent deeply. Cologne, vault soap, and the unmistakable testosterone musk of a virile male animal. I can’t resist. I whisper into his ear. “Oh Sir, please. Hurt me.”

Then I feel his teeth on my neck, a brutal bite, vicious chewing. A throaty shout bursts from my lungs, the sweet symphony of pain. I squeeze him deliciously and he thrusts faster. I can hear his muffled grunts, the forceful puffs against my neck as he exhales.

Our sweat mingles, mixing together. My hands squeeze him anywhere I can gain purchase. His back, muscles bunching and relaxing.  His hips, gliding smoothly back and forth, pausing just a little each time he plunges deep inside of me.

He comes, a guttural moan against my neck, biting harder. I cry out in both pain and pleasure, unmindful of anyone who might be walking by the door.

He rests atop me, his weight reassuring, protective. My neck throbs where he bit me. He lifts himself up onto his elbows, kisses me deeply. Eyes closed, I soak in the sensation – his lips, teeth tongue – his mouth making love to mine.

He pulls away slowly, breathing heavily. Then he smiles, the goofy mischievous grin that I’ve grown to love. His eyes search out mine – which is no easy task.

“So…” he asks. “You thirsty?”

* * *

 

He spoons me from behind.

I guide him gently inside of me, and we grind gently, slowly, against each other. I moan softly. He pulls me close to him and our bodies seem to move as one.

His hand clasps mine.

I focus on the feel of his warm body against me. The beautiful sounds that he makes – moans, grunts, loud exhalations – are sweet music in my ears. He’s like no other man I’ve ever met before - he touches me boldly, confidently, as if he has every right to my body.

He comes with a soft grunt, pulsating gently, releasing himself inside of me.

We lay quiet, still, the silence lengthening. He pulls my shoulder, rolls me over so that he can gaze into my eyes. “They hurt you, didn’t they Kitten?” he asks, running his hand up the length of my body, tracing the surgical scar between my breasts where that machine cracked me open and replaced my ticker with Heart 2.0.

I nod.

“They hurt you bad.”

I nod again.

“You don’t have to worry anymore, love.” He pets my hair. “I’ll protect you.” A tear streams down my cheek. He kisses my forehead softly, forces me to meet his eyes. “But only if you’ll let me.”

 

 


End file.
